“Can you bring in McMasters?” he asked.
I nodded, though I was in no way certain.
“If you can, I am prepared to overturn your conviction and see that all old charges against you in this jurisdiction are expunged.”
“Just what do you want me to do with him?”
“I want him!” Parker said. “It’s not a matter of dead or alive, Mr. Mather. The man’s already legally dead, so you can’t murder him, not strictly speaking. I want you to make certain that he’s decently and quietly dead when you bring him in.”
“You know how to fight a man like Jehoiakim?” Sheriff Teague asked.
“What you told me about him drinking blood sounds like a creature Cotton wrote about,” I replied. If Jehoiakim is the same, sunlight or a holy symbol, like a cross, will hurt him. Then there's this.” I pulled a cartridge out of my belt and passed it to him.
“A silver bullet?”
“According to my ancestor, they’re what’s needed to kill a witch, a giant, or someone leading a charmed life.”
“I heard of a man who uses silver bullets,” Teague said. “Supposed to be a reminder of the cost of human life.”
I shrugged. That sounded noble-minded, but impractical. My philosophy was to shoot without hesitation when I had to. I’d had cause to regret my actions a few times, but I was still alive.
“You have enough of those bullets for me?” Teague asked.
“You’re coming?”
He nodded. “I'll meet you in half an hour. I just hope that Jehoiakim is this man you’re looking for,” he said. “I would dearly love to be rid of him.”
Sheriff Teague joined me at the stables with a shotgun in his hand and a rosary around his neck. “Never hurts to be careful,” he said with a grim smile. “I packed my shells with silver dimes instead of shot.”
Brother Jehoiakim’s church was an old homestead about five miles south of town. It sat empty for several years since a Comanchero raid that took the lives of the entire family. Brother Jehoiakim had taken up an informal residence there and some of his followers had joined him to form a sort of miniature community. Teague had heard rumours of blasphemous rituals but didn't have any real evidence of crimes.
It was dark by the time we reached the spread, but the moon was only several days away from full so we had no difficulty finding our way. As we rode up we saw figures gathered around a bonfire near the barn. A sonorous chanting came from the assembly. I didn't recognize any of the words, but the sound of them made me feel cold inside.
The voices died as we rode up and the preacher laid aside the large book he had been reading from. There were about thirty worshippers. They mostly seemed like down-on-their-luck farmers, but there were a few who had the look of townies as well. The people dressed in simple white garments made from bed sheets. They reminded me of the robes the night-riders used to wear after the war.
Brother Jehoiakim’s robe was made of crimson cloth, and painted in silver with strange symbols. The book was bound in a shaggy animal hide of some sort. He was as near as tall as me, which is to say well above average, and had a handsome face with dark hair and bright blue eyes, all of which matched Judge Parker's description.
“Sheriff, welcome,” he said with a warm smile. “Have you come to join our fellowship?”
“We’ve come to arrest you Jehoiakim,” Teague said.
A murmur passed through the assembly, but the preacher calmed it with a gesture. The smile never left his face.
“This man is a marshal.” Teague nodded at me. “He says that you’re a convicted criminal named McMasters and he’s here with a warrant for you.”
Jehoiakim’s smile broadened into a grin. “I must confess sheriff, your friend is correct. I was born into this small world as Roger McMasters, and I did all of the terrible things that he claims.”
“That’s all I need,” I said, drawing a pistol. “You’re coming with me.”
“I don’t think so.” Jehoiakim replied. His voice was as smooth as fine whiskey. “You can’t arrest a man who has already served his sentence.”
“What does he mean?” Teague asked.
“I was sentenced to be hanged by the neck until dead,” the preacher replied. “I has hanged by the neck until I was dead, then the One Beyond gave me back my life. I was reborn a new man. That paper is for the man who died on the gallows. It has nothing to do with me.”
“You just come along with us Jehoiakim,” Teague said, “I’ll hold you in my jail till the circuit judge comes through in a week. He can decide if the warrant’s any good.”
“I’m afraid that won’t do,” Jehoikim answered. “The One Beyond has need of me for the ceremony of the Great Opening. You can wait and watch if you like. Perhaps I will come with you when it is over.”
I heard Teague swear an oath. “The people of this town have had enough of your blasphemy!” he shouted. “I know these folks and I’ve stood by for too long while you’ve corrupted them.”
I could tell what was coming, but I wasn’t fast enough to stop it. As I turned towards Teague, the shotgun went off, tearing a dozen holes in the front of the preacher’s red robe.
Jehoiakim’s smile faltered and he staggered back a pace, then he straightened and his smile returned. He sprang at Teague with blinding speed and made a slashing gesture with a stiff-fingered hand. The sheriff went down, as blood, painted black by the moonlight, gushed from his neck.
I paused the smallest fraction of a second, deliberately placing my shot. The bullet tore through Jehoiakim’s wrist before he could strike again. I kept my gun on him while I bent to check Teague. His breath was shallow and he was losing blood at a frightening rate. I pulled off his kerchief and did my best, working one-handed, to staunch the flow.
“I had no choice marshal.” Jehoiakim’s voice was as smooth as ever. He was still smiling as he stood, cradling his wounded wrist with his good hand.
“You just knifed a peace officer you son of...“
”Self-defense.” The preacher said. “He tried to kill me and I was forced to protect myself. You saw it yourself, and so did all these witnesses. Besides, I have no knife.”
I glared at the blank faces.
“Some of you men, hitch up that buckboard!” I yelled, “I need to get this man to a doctor!”
The worshipers shifted uncertainly, until Brother Jehoiakim nodded his approval, then they set to work.
I rose to my feet and levelled my revolver at Jehoikim’s chest.
“You’re coming with me, McMasters.”
“I’m afraid not, mmarshal,” he replied. “You have no cause to take me and my people will not allow me to be arrested unjustly. Are you so sure I am a criminal that you will risk their lives?”
He released his wrist and displayed it. There was no trace of a wound. A gasp of wonder came from the worshippers.
“Are you even sure you can arrest me?”
“I don’t know who you think you are,” I said in a quiet voice, “but this isn't over.”
“Who am I? That’s a very good question, lawman. I suppose you could say that I am a god. The only real god you have ever known.”
He stooped and picked up the rosary. He winced as if it disgusted him to touch it.
“Silver bullets and magic charms,” He shook his head with a smirk. “It’s amazing how strong a hold these superstitions have on the weak-minded.”
The preacher tossed the beads so they landed on the wounded man’s chest.
“I used to believe in such things, then my studies led me to the truth, to a god who touched my mind and changed me. He is Tawil-at-U'mr, the One from Beyond. His hand guided me to the holy book and taught me the incantations that transformed me. His power flows through my body, keeping me safe from harm, even bringing me back from death.”
His eyes were filled with a wild light as his voice rose.
“This very night, the moment of my ascension has come!” he cried, “The stars are right! The moment is nigh for the
Dweller to cross the Threshhold and enter our world. I have been his prophet, but soon I will become his vessel. His wisdom shall be mine! I am a god already, but then I will be all-powerful!”
He quieted himself with an effort, then grinned. “You’re free to stay as a witness marshal, though I’ll understand if you want to take your friend to a doctor first. It makes no difference to me.”
I had not been on the road for Bitter Water more than ten minutes when I heard Teague calling me from the back of the buckboard. I reined in the horses and moved to check on him.
“What are you doing, Mather?”
“I’m getting you to town,” I answered. “You need a doctor.”
“Too late for that,” he said between gasps. “Lost too much blood already.”
“You lie still,” I said, but he wasn’t listening.
“You have to... go back,” he said. “You saw... what he is.”
“I saw that nothing can hurt him,” I replied. “Even if I went back, there’s nothing I could do.”
He reached up and grasped my shirt front. He tried to say something but only succeeded in starting a bloody coughing spasm. After a moment, he fell quiet and slumped back. I’ve seen enough dead men to know that he wouldn’t speak again.
I felt ashamed, kneeling there that a wounded man should have so much more courage than I did. Maybe I should go back and die facing down an unstoppable enemy.
I started to lay the rosary on the dead man’s chest, but paused to look at it. Jehoiakim had flinched when he touched the beads. Had that just been distaste or had it affected him somehow? My many times Great-Grandfather Cotton had written that faith was the surest of all tools against the powers of darkness. Then again, Cotton would have called a rosary a papist idol.
I didn’t have any of the answers, I just knew that it was the only weapon I could try that had any chance. I gathered the dead man’s shotgun and headed back the way I had come.
As I neared the homestead I saw another light in the barnyard which outshone the bonfire. It came from a shimmering shape that I had a hard time getting my mind to accept. It was as if a hole to some other place had opened up in the night air. The shimmering light hung like a gauzy curtain over the opening and the silhouette of a man, taller than any I had ever seen, stood on the other side. The sight made my insides go cold.
“Marshal!” Jehoiakim cried with delight, “You’re back just in time. My ascension is come!”
I dismounted and began to march straight at the preacher. I levelled the shotgun at his chest.
“Mister, if you don’t stop this right now, I’m going to blow you in half!”
“Do you think I’m afraid of you?” Jehoiakim asked, laughing. “Fool! What I have become is beyond your understanding!”
“You think you’re a god because you’re bulletproof? I guess you’ve got some pretty low standards.” There was more bravado than conviction in my words, but I felt better for saying them.
“I am a god!” he shouted.
“If that’s the case, how about I give you a few prayers?”
I fired both barrels into Jehoiakim at point blank range. The blast shredded his robe and made a bloody mess of the chest underneath. The preacher dropped his black book and staggered backwards. He sank to his knees, a look of pain and disbelief on his face.
“How?”
“When I saw how silver didn’t bother you,” I replied. “I thought maybe a load of rosary beads would get your attention. You might have some protection against holy symbols, but I don’t imagine one has ever been presented to you like this.”
Jehoiakim clutched his chest more tightly. Even with his wounds, he had tremendous vitality. “Fall on him my children!” he cried, “Our Lord will heal this body as soon as he crosses the Threshold!”
“Stay back!” I shouted. I drew my pistols and waved them menacingly. “I don’t want to kill you people, but I will.”
The worshippers faltered. They hadn’t been prepared for anything like this. They could kill me if they rushed me as a group, but only if they didn’t mind losing a bunch of their friends.
The silhouette behind the shimmering curtain reached toward me and I felt as if my heart would explode with fear. This wasn’t a man with powers, like Jehoiakim, it was something alien. I knew somehow that if it pierced the veil it would contaminate the world by its very presence.
I tore my eyes away from it and they fell on the black book lying open on the ground. I holstered one pistol and grabbed it. The tome was warm to the touch and I had the disquieting feeling that it was alive, but I ignored the sensation and threw the foul thing into the bonfire.
“No!” Jehoiakim screamed, “I can’t finish the ritual without the book!”
As the cover charred and the pages flashed into flame, the Lurker in the light changed. I hid my face instinctively. The screams of worshippers who had not been as quick filled the air.
Just as I closed my eyes, I saw something dark, like tendrils of shadow, wrap themselves around Brother Jehoiakim and drag him, screaming, toward the shimmering barrier.
In a moment, the screaming was over and the strange light was gone. I looked up to see the pitiful crowd of white-robed worshippers as they staggered around, babbling mindlessly. One woman stood tall, screaming at the sky, while a youth giggled, and hacked at his arms with a pocket knife. It was the same everywhere and it made me think of what I'd heard of insane asylums.
I turned away, unable to help and unwilling to watch the madness.
A week later, I was back in Fort Smith, face to face with the infamous Hanging Judge.
“So you’ve come back empty handed,” he said after I’d finished my story.
“There was nothing to bring back,” I replied. “All I could find were some bloodstains where he had been standing.”
“I’ve a mind to believe you Mr. Mather,” Judge Parker said. “In fact, I think you’d be a fine lawman, if you chose.”
“Maybe someday,” I said, “but not in Arkansas.”
“Very well,” he replied. “You’ll be glad to know that I will have your record expunged of all charges right away.”
“Thank you Judge.”
“It’s the least I can do. After all, you carried out my instructions as well as any man could have.”
“You mean about seeing that McMasters is ‘decently and quietly dead?’” I shook my head. “There wasn’t anything decent about what happened to him, or quiet. As far as his being dead...”
I didn’t finish the sentence. Despite all the monstrous things Jehoiakim had done, I hoped he was dead, but I suspected that his condition was something much worse, in that incomprehensible place beyond the shimmering veil.
Matthew Baugh was born and raised in the Southwest. He first discovered the historical Mysterious Dave Mather as a teen on a family trip from Albuquerque to Phoenix. Dave was listed in booklet on famous gunfighters that he bought in one of the little trading posts on the New Mexico/Arizona border. Matthew has been writing for publication for about six years and has a special love for weird westerns. His other Mysterious Dave stories have appeared in Arkham Tales, issue #1 of In Lovecraft's Shadow, Frontier Cthulhu, and the forthcoming Tales from the Cauldron. When not writing strange tales, Matthew is the pastor of a church in the greater Chicago area.
_blank_blank Trouble Huntin’
by
Bill Craig
Thunder boomed outside the saloon, loud enough to rattle the panes of glass in the windows. Rain pelted the glass like pebbles and was blowing in sheets across the muddy street. Even the chandelier and kerosene lamps could do little to fight off the gloom caused by the gully washer hitting outside. Lightning flashed through the sky. Ty Remus sat at a green felt covered poker table shuffling the pasteboards back and forth as Sally Whitlaw, one of the soiled doves, leaned over the table giving him a generous view of her charms.
Ty and Sally had recently started keeping company and the other cowboys that came into the Silver Belle Saloon
pretty much left her alone. Ty had a reputation of a man you didn’t mess with if you planned to keep on breathing, and it was a reputation that he courted. He didn’t look up when the batwing doors opened and the man wearing the slicker stepped inside. Not until Sally nudged him. Ty looked the man over, took in the way he moved and the way he had stepped immediately to the side of the doors before moving forward into the Saloon. Ty turned to the bartender and nodded and the man drew a draft and placed it in front of the stranger as he reached the long wooden bar. The stranger looked around questioningly and Ty raised a hand. The stranger nodded and carried the foam topped mug over to the table.
“Thanks for the beer, friend.” the man sat down.
“You looked thirsty, and I just can’t stand to see a man needing a drink on a stormy night.” Ty replied, sipping at his own beer.
“I’m looking for someone. A man goes by the name of Lupo. You know him?” the man looked Ty in the eye. It was easy to read the determination on his face.
“I might. I’d want to know who’s asking though.” Ty shrugged.
“Fair enough. Name is Grady. Been on Lupo’s trail since Kansas.” the man replied.
“What did he do, Grady?” Ty asked, curious. As far as he knew, Lupo had pretty much kept to himself since he had gotten back to town.
“He murdered a whole family in Kansas. Tore them up like an animal had been at them. Never seen anything so horrible in my life.” Grady shook his head.
“You sure it was him?” Ty asked.
“Saw him walk into the house less than five minutes before the screams and fire began. By the time I busted down the front door he was busting out a back window. It was a full moon that night and I saw his face as if it were sunlight.” Grady shook his head, going pale at the memory. “The house was on fire and I liked to never made it out.”
“And you followed him here.” Ty shook his head.
“I was the city marshal at the time. Can’t let something like that go unpunished.” His voice was low and filled with pain.
“I reckon not.” Ty replied sipping at his beer.
Six Guns Straight From Hell - Tales Of Horror And Dark Fantasy From The Weird Weird West Page 5
